


Hatched

by Maplesyrup



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV), The War of the Worlds - H. G. Wells
Genre: Alien!Belle - Freeform, Also female solidarity, Amy and Belle are going to be good friends, Anyelle, Belle hatched from a giant stone egg, F/M, I already have an alien Belle but we need more, Ogilvelle, Rumbelle - Freeform, War of the Worlds (BBC), WotW, all-female planet, and all the males were Not Ok With This, don't they know us by now????, idk how long this will be, maybe smut?, tagged as rumbelle because they don't have an ogilvelle tag, the first chapter is sort of serious but it will lighten up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2020-10-13 10:29:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20581034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maplesyrup/pseuds/Maplesyrup
Summary: Harlan Ogilvy comes face-to-face with the tiny alien who fell to Earth in the largest capsule.Eternal thanks to Mareyshelley, an amazing friend and wonderful beta. <32020 TEA Winner - Best Sci-Fi





	1. Gelatinous Muck

**Author's Note:**

> The damn two-second preview for War of the Worlds made my brain go “Oh heyyyyyy” so I wrote an Ogilvelle thing ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

_England, the day it happened…_

Harlan Ogilvy stood with the rest of the gawkers, watching the police hold back the throng of panicked men as the great stone-like orb throbbed and pulsed with otherworldly life. Cracks snaked along its surface, steam erupting in small bursts from the larger fissures and he wondered numbly why the thing didn’t explode.

“Where’s Amy?”

George’s panicked footsteps followed his voice and he skidded to a halt in the roughened earth near where Harlan stood.

“Ogilvy, where is she?”

Harlan turned, shaking his head mutely before returning his attention to the orb, now emitting a peculiar light as the cracks spread with mesmerizing speed. The light coalesced, burning his eyes, and a clap of thunder sounded. Harlan shoved his hands against his ears, slamming his eyes shut and dropping to the ground, curling around himself to shield whatever part he could from the blast.

No impact of debris came and after a few moments, he pulled his hands from his ears and opened his eyes, scanning the area around him. He uncurled his body from the dirt, spotting police and onlookers alike as they sprawled in various spots on the ground, every one of them staring at the spot the orb had fallen. Their eyes bulged in disbelief and he frowned in confusion.

“Jesus,” George breathed beside him, “it—is that—”

Harlan turned, following George’s pointed finger. A mist was clearing around the area where the orb had stood, but the great hulk of stone was gone. In its place was a tiny, seemingly hairless being, coated in some sort of thick ooze and curled in the fetal position on the ground.

His body moved of its own volition, shaking off George’s hands and cries to stop as he moved towards the small creature. He slowed his steps as he drew closer, taking in the details of the thing.

If he hadn’t known better, he would swear it was of Earth. It possessed limbs, slight and thin but still discernible, even as it remained curled in its puddle of gelatinous muck. The thick stuff lay on the creature like a translucent algae-green blanket, a gentle ripple across its surface giving it the appearance of being alive. He crouched down slowly, peering at what he could see of the being, and located what appeared to be a face, or what he could discern as one. Two eyes and below that, a nose. The rest was covered by two arms pillowing its head.

The creature was in every appearance quite comfortably asleep. Whatever outward blast had broken the shell of what he was rapidly believing was some sort of transport egg, the tiny alien had apparently survived it in comfort. It almost made him smile.

He reached out, his hand hovering just above the gel covering and nearly touched it before his hand was jerked back in a rough grasp.

“What the hell are you doing?!”

He turned, finding George’s hand around his arm in a fervent grip, the clutch of it nearly smarting.

“I—” he faltered, having no real answer. “It’s alive, George. Look.”

Harlan turned back to the alien, watching the gel smooth itself out, then ripple once more.

“It seems to be merely sleeping.” He reached out a hand again, his fingers barely brushing the gel. “This covering is—”

A zap of energy coursed up his arm, and he yelped, the sensation burning away his words. The bolt ricocheted around his body, sending lights into his vision before shooting down his spine and through the nerve endings of his body. The edge of his consciousness tingled, his peripheral vision crackling with bits of blue-white lightning. It was over in seconds but his heart continued to gallop in a mad dash towards some unknown finish line.

Harlan took a few deep breaths, trying to calm the over-working muscle. His mind cleared, his vision returning to normal, and he pulled his hand back. He stared at it, expecting scorched skin, but it was clear and smooth as normal. His gaze dropped to the alien and he started anew, falling backward with a graceless thump into the dirt.

The little thing was suddenly staring at him through the goop, eyes wide and the same unearthly blue as the lightning that had darted through his peripherals.

They stared at one another for a moment before it blinked, slow and sleepy, then began to push itself up. Harlan gulped as the rest of its form was revealed, the gel covering sluicing off and evaporating before it reached the ground, pale skin eerily similar to that of humans and a figure to match. In his limited opinion, the alien was female. She was also quite nude.

“George, give me your coat,” Harlan spat, turning towards the other man and gesturing impatiently. George sat blankly staring and Harlan shoved at his shoulder.

“George!”

“What?” George’s attention snapped away from the alien, his cheeks coloring. “Oh, y-yes. Of course.”

He shrugged off his coat and Harlan snatched it away from him, reaching towards the alien with it. She scrambled backwards a few feet, unmistakable fear in her wide eyes as she stared at Harlan. He stopped, uncertain for a moment before holding out his hands, trying to show her he meant no harm.

“It’s alright,” he pitched his voice in what he hoped was a soothing tone, “I won’t harm you. I just want to cover you.” He held up the coat, mimicking covering her with it and praying she would understand. She looked at the coat for a few seconds, her brow furrowed lightly before cautiously traversing the distance between them. She allowed him to slip it over her shoulders and he did so gently. She pressed her nose to the fabric, sniffing lightly, then grimaced but tugged it closer around her with a shiver. Her eyes darted up and around, taking in the world around her and she let out a long slow breath as she gazed.

Harlan was stumped, absolutely at sea with the small creature before him. Whatever he’d anticipated coming out of that Sisyphean-like boulder, it wasn’t her. Such a large vessel for such a small thing. And what on Earth to do with her now?

“Well,” George said, “all things considered, it could have been worse.”

Harlan huffed.

“It still could go poorly for us, George.” He shook his head. “Don’t assume anything.”

A feminine shout came from the edge of the woods around them, and the two men turned at the sound. Amy burst from the trees, red hair trailing behind her where it fell out of its pins.

Harlan watched George run full-bore towards her, the two of them smashing into each other in a brutal embrace, relief palpable in both their forms. A wistful smile curved his lips. What must it be like to be loved so deeply that your entire world turned on another person’s presence?

A small hum drew his attention back towards the alien and he saw her shuffle forward a bit, her eyes on Amy. The creature was smiling in what looked like relief, a hand outstretched towards Amy. Harlan hesitated, unsure of the creature’s intentions yet wanting to help her.

The decision was made for him. Amy spotted her the moment George released her, finally believing her to be hale and whole. She moved cautiously towards the alien, the latter female growing more excited the closer Amy was.

“Ogilvy, who is this?”

“She came from the stone.” He paused. “Actually, I rather think it was an egg.”

“Oh.” Amy lowered to a knee, smiling sweetly. “Hello.”

The alien reached for Amy, grasping her hand before Harlan or George could intervene. Amy gasped, her eyes glazing over for a brief moment before returning to clarity. She stared at the alien anew.

“Hello, Belle.”


	2. Buttons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The invasion of Ogilvy's home.

Harlan sat at the large mahogany desk tucked in the back of his conservatory, a short, thick candle lighting the papers he shuffled as he stared at them without seeing. Discovery had been shoved right into his face—and home—making the postulated theories scratched on the papers before him seem like natterings of a bygone era. 

The tiny visitor had observed everything that took place around her in eerie silence, her small form still wrapped in George’s coat as she clung near Amy’s side. The taller woman had kept a protective arm around the small, bald being, fairly snarling when the men got too close. Whatever Belle had shown her when their hands had touched had rendered Amy a staunch ally to her cause.

Belle swiveled her large, unblinking eyes to and fro as the three of them spoke around her. The otherworldly gaze landed and settled on Harlan far more often than he found himself comfortable experiencing. He began to feel a bit like a rabbit in the crosshairs, unable to shake the feeling that she was quite keenly aware of what was happening around her.

Somehow it had been decided that the little alien would be safest at Harlan’s old family house in the country. He’d put up what he considered to be sufficient fuss against the idea but was overruled, h is objections no match for Amy's insistence. A nd so they took their bundled baggage and slipped away while the distracted policemen were still poking about the misty crash site.

They’d arrived soon enough to his estate. It was more a familial relic than an actual home; he’d spent little time there as a youth, instead finding his bearings at boarding school, much the same as any boy of his class and upbringing. The place was left to him in his parents’ will, naturally, but Harlan preferred his city dwelling. Much closer to the observatory.

Amy and George immediately suggested they spend the night in order to be of any assistance they could once a new day dawned and brought all the problems it could carry with it. Harlan and George tacitly agreed to let Amy continue to handle the newcomer, neither of them wanting to get between whatever maternal or sisterly defense she’d built up in the scant minutes of knowing Belle. They’d taken a guest room easily enough, or so Amy reported back once Belle was settled. She hadn’t yet spoken, but by Amy’s account she smiled enough that Amy had felt her explanations had been understood. Everyone else had gone to their rooms after that, eager for a bit of peace after a bizarre day. 

Save for Harlan. His mind was too busy for sleep.

He sat back with a sigh, his chair creaking as his moved. Pulling off his spectacles, he rubbed at his eyes, suddenly feeling the weight of exhaustion in his body as his thoughts began to drift. How in heaven’s name the Home Office hadn’t made its way to his doorstep yet was a miracle sent by a God he didn’t quite believe in. He supposed it was only a matter of time before they came knocking, the irritating buggers. Saints preserve him from meddlesome government officials and their bureaucratic mindsets.

A sudden creak in the floorboards near him cleared the haze encroaching on his senses and his head snapped to the side. He jerked back in involuntary fright, letting out a brief scream and nearly toppling the chair as his heart shot into his throat. 

There Belle stood, silent as a ghost, next to his desk, staring down at him with massively dilated pupils, the blue of her irises all but eclipsed. A tumble of dark curls swept over her shoulder, highlighting a long white shirt draped over her small form with one solitary button done exactly in the middle.

Some stupid synapse wondered when she had grown all that hair but it was drowned out by the sheer panic engulfing the rest of his brain.

He stared back at her, his instincts urging him to flee, but he was frozen, rooted where he sat. She tilted her head, still staring, and took an unnervingly long, slow breath, her gaze never breaking from his. A little notch appeared in her forehead and he saw her pupils shrink back to what could be deemed a normal size. She stepped closer, reaching out to him and he recoiled. The frown deepened, taking on a sad quality, and she dropped her hand. Her gaze fell to the candle flame, then to the papers on his desk. The little frown smoothed out as her pupils dilated once more, though not nearly as large as they previously were. 

She shifted, reaching out towards the paper laying in front of him, and he caught a glimpse of a creamy, pale breast tipped with a dusky nipple as the shirt— _ his _ , he registered dumbly—fluttered open.

This time he jerked for an altogether different reason, one hand shooting up to shield his eyes as he turned away to protect her modesty. 

“Forgive me!”

He felt the eerie stillness of her settle over him when she stopped at his fervent whisper. It lasted for a long moment before he heard the shuffling of papers across his desk. He turned hesitantly, keeping a hand by his eyes to avoid another accidental leer and was relieved for a moment to see the back of her as she stood with papers in her hands. 

The relief was short-lived.

His traitorous gaze fell, noting the curve of her buttocks through the bottom of his shirt, shapely legs visible below the hem that fluttered against the backs of her thighs. He swallowed hard.

She bent across his desk, reaching for something and the hem of the shirt rose, giving him a tantalizing glimpse of rounded cheeks before he stood abruptly, the chair scooting back with a protesting creak as he moved away from her. 

She turned, pinning him with those tremendous eyes, pupils blown unfathomably wide once more and he felt a disturbing mix of fear and desire roll through his belly. His clothing was suddenly far too tight and he retreated beyond the reach of the candle’s golden beam, into the coolness of the muted silver moonlight that mixed with the shadows in the rest of the room. He tried in vain to stem his sudden bellows-like breathing.

The floorboards creaked and he whipped around to see her standing near him once more, the faint moonbeams catching a near iridescence in her skin. She raised a hand to his face, holding it near his cheek but not touching him, as he stood paralyzed with conflicting desires; he wanted to run from her, but to where? He wanted to collapse and beg at her feet, yet for what?

She lowered her hand to his skin, settling her cool palm against his cheek and his breath hitched hard in his chest, releasing with a sob he was ashamed of. Her palm warmed and she closed her eyes, finally releasing him from the tortuous pull of those pupils. A soothing warmth spread from where her hand met his skin and his breathing slowed as he calmed, a gentle wash of peace following as he settled. His eyes closed of their own accord as it spread, comforting as a fire after a long day out in the cold.

A sweet voice echoed in his head, kind and full of care, and he felt his lips curve in a grateful smile. The peace seeped into his bones, banishing his fear of her and leaving only curiosity in its wake. He was a scientist, after all. Wasn’t she simply a new discovery he’d made? Nothing to be afraid of, really. How silly he was to be so frightened.

The wave of warmth pulled back but the peace remained for a few moments longer until he realized she had stopped touching him. He opened his eyes slowly, expecting to see her in front of him, but he was alone.

The candle guttered where it stood on his table and he frowned, moving towards it in something of a daze. It had been half-spent when Belle had arrived. How long had he been standing there? 

The shadows around him held a tell-tale lavender hue. He looked out of the conservatory glass, his eyes widening in disbelief. 

Dawn?  _ Dawn _ was approaching?

He sat heavily in his chair, bemused and slack-jawed as he watched the sun slowly start to rise. Darting bronze beams made their way across his desk, drawing his attention to a tidily-arranged pile of papers where before there had been a haphazard mess.

And in the middle of the top sheet lay one small, white button.


	3. Visions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new face from the Home Office makes an appearance. Whether they are welcome or not remains to be seen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween! Have some more aliens! I love aliens.
> 
> Also whoops the rating went up.

A loud pounding at the front door disturbed the pensive conversation over the breakfast table the next morning, effectively silencing the three people seated. A collective breath was held in the ensuing silence after the knocks stopped, only to be released in an anxious rush once the noise began again.

Whoever was calling apparently felt no compunction to obey the laws of decency by ringing the bell. Harlan pushed his chair away and stood, tossing his napkin to his chair. A few hours worth of dozing wasn’t nearly enough sleep to deal with whatever was waiting for him on the other side of his front door.

As he moved into the foyer, movement from the stairs caught his eye and he turned. Belle descended the stairs from the second floor, her steps calm and slow, the skirts of a rose day gown swishing around her feet.

Harlan’s eyes traveled from the hem to her face. Her blue eyes were calm, their pupils normal. She gazed back at him placidly as she traversed the tiled floor to where he stood; looking well-rested, her creamy skin complemented by the hue of the gown. He wondered where she’d found the clothing and opened his mouth to call out to Amy, but the knocking took up once more. It increased in speed and Harlan ground his teeth in annoyance, striding to the door and wrenching it open with a scowl.

“Yes?” he barked, then stilled as he registered the visitor.

A tall, top-hatted man stood on his front step, darkened pince-nez spectacles perched on his nose and a manila folder clutched near his chest. His other hand was curved around the crystal knob of an ornamental cane, the black lacquered wood shining in the morning light. The man thumped his cane.

“Ogilvy, my friend!” He smiled wide, showing his teeth. “Lovely morning for a visit, wouldn’t you say? Especially under such  _ unique _ circumstances, eh?”

Harlan swallowed, his belly fluttering.

“Jefferson.” He swallowed again, his pulse jumping in his neck. “How—that is, w-what are you doing here?”

The man called Jefferson scoffed and rolled his eyes, then swept smoothly past Harlan and into the foyer, ostentatious coattails flapping behind him.

“I think you know very well, dear boy.” He stopped near Belle, pulling down the pince-nez and eyeing her appreciatively. “My,  _ my _ , but if one didn’t know better, one would think you were just an ordinary young woman enjoying a sojourn to the country.” He smiled.

Belle tilted her head at him, her eyes narrowing in what Harlan could only describe as playful. The hint of a smile tugged at her lips. Harlan’s eyes darted back and forth between the two of them, watching as Belle took a step closer to Jefferson and peered up at him, her pupils widening a bit as she inspected the tall man.

Harlan took a step closer to the pair, suddenly aware of an odd, burning emotion in his gut. He looked away, querying his body with a frown.

Jealousy. He blinked. He was  _ jealous?  _ Of what?

Belle suddenly giggled and Harlan’s gaze snapped back to them. Jefferson had removed his hat and spectacles and had what Harlan knew to be his flirting face on. Belle was eyeing him skeptically but she’d still laughed. The jealousy twisted around Harlan’s innards and he strode forward, clearing his throat at the two of them.

“That’s enough of that, if you please,” he grumbled, turning to Jefferson. “You’ve yet to explain the reason for your call. We’re in the middle of breakfast.”

Jefferson pulled back, slanting Harlan a droll look.

“No need to be jealous, Harlan,” he purred, “I’m merely getting acquainted with our special visitor.” He waved towards the breakfast salon. “Why don’t we continue there. I know how testy you get when you’ve not broken your morning fast.” He winked at Harlan before sauntering away. 

Harlan’s cheeks heated and he stuttered out a few embarrassed, nonsensical noises as Jefferson entered the room, bowing to a surprised George and Amy and serving himself a plate from the sideboard. A gentle hand touched his arm and he turned, finding Belle quite close, her eyes curious and a question in her small smile. She held out a hand, palm up.

He glanced over at Jefferson once more, the man waving a fork at Amy as he said something that had her snorting into her tea, and sighed, holding out his arm for Belle to take.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she grasped his hand in hers, her skin cool and soft against his. He nearly smiled but a barrage of memories flooded his brain, ones carefully tucked away in a back corner of his memory, kept for private perusal only.

_ Candles throwing light around a bedroom, bronzing naked skin. Warm, strong arms wrapped around him from behind, hands grasping the softness at his middle as a hard mouth gently kisses and nips at his neck and shoulder.  _

_ Moaning, gasping, pleading as a hand wraps around his cock, stroking him to full hardness. A voice coaxes him to bend, to brace his arms on the large bed. Hands run down his back, grasping his buttocks, squeezing firmly. A foreign pressure, a slight sting, then a possessive fullness drawing raw, wrecked shouts from his throat at the pleasure of being filled, being owned and taken.  _

_ The muscles in his arms fail him, and he falls, his face to the side as his hands claw at the blanket beneath him. The new angle strikes a spot deep inside him and he screams from the pleasure of it, a hand working his cock in firm strokes in time with the thrusts bottoming out inside him. White-hot joy bursts through him as he screams his lover’s name over and over. _

_ “Jefferson!” _

Harlan came back to himself with a jolt, his cock pressing hard against the inside of his trousers in defiance of the shame burning his face. The light, cool pressure of Belle’s hand in his was a sharp contrast to his overheated skin and felt lovely, but he yanked away from her all the same.

He shot her a glare, an odd sense of betrayal filling his gut. Her eyes were wide, her expression troubled, and she reached out to him once more.

He stumbled a step or two backward, shaking his head.

“Th-that’s  _ private _ ,” he hissed at her. She took another step towards him, then stopped, casting a look over her shoulder towards the breakfast salon. When her eyes returned to his, they were filled with confusion, and she shook her head in turn. She pointed at him, then to Jefferson before holding out her hands, palms pressed and fingers laced together, her face hopeful.

He stared, refusing to acknowledge what he thought she was asking. She pressed closer to him, her hands almost making contact with his chest. He flinched away again, afraid of what else she would draw forth from the recesses of his memory.

Belle faltered, her expression dropping into sadness as her arms slowly lowered. She blinked, turning away from him and moving back towards the stairs and ascending several before remorse shoved his feet forward.

“Belle.”

He took the first stair hesitantly as she turned and looked over her shoulder, her face neutral as she gazed down at him. He climbed slowly, stopping at the stair below hers. His mouth worked around a few nonsense syllables as he fought for the right words.

“I-I don’t—I’m not—” he sighed, exasperated. “I was just—” 

A gentle hand made contact with his chest, stopping his words. The hand unfolded to flatten against his heart. Warmth spread from where she touched him, the same from the previous night, seeping through his clothing. A sudden rush of emotion overwhelmed him and tears pricked his eyes. He thought to push her away but gripped her hand tighter to his chest instead. The warmth changed, a sweet understanding flowing along with it, and apology as well.

He blinked back the tears and focused on her face. She smiled and a vision bloomed in his mind. A tall young woman covered in diaphanous cloth ran towards Belle, arms outstretched. They caught one another, laughing and spinning for a moment before settling into a deep, passionate kiss. They dropped to some kind of soft-looking grass, rolling in a tangle of long hair and bared limbs. He caught a glimpse of the face of the second young woman, and the love there took his breath away.

The vision suddenly faded and Belle’s visage slowly came back into focus. A wistful smile curved her mouth and she removed her hand from his chest.

“You…your people,” Harlan breathed, scanning her face. He shook his head, a smile of his own forming. “What that must be like.”

Belle tilted her head to regard him as she breathed a deep sigh. She stepped down to his stair, pointing again to the breakfast salon, her eyebrows raised in question. He nodded after a moment, his arm coming up automatically for her to take. A corner of her mouth curled upward in a tiny smile and she slid her hand into the crook of his elbow. Where they touched, no extra warmth permeated, save the normal kind shared by two bodies close to one another. 

He led her down to breakfast with no further incident, settling her in a chair near Amy, who offered her a plate of buttered toast. She plucked a piece from the plate, inspecting it with a delicate sniff before turning back to Amy.

“Thank you.”

Everyone stilled, turning to stare at Belle as they marveled over the two simple words, spoken clear as day right before she took a small bite, oblivious to the shock around her.


End file.
